When we had first seen Rhodora there
could be no question that she sadly needed bringing up by somebody. To
that date she had, apparently, only come up by herself.
"I, for one, have never seen her since that none-too-short visit she
made you, that summer," said the Skeptic reminiscently. "It has never
occurred to me to long to see her again. She was a mere lusty infant
then. And now she's to be married. How time gets on! What did you say
was the name of the unfortunate chap?"
"'The Reverend Christopher Austen,'" re-read Hepatica from the letter.
"He will need all the fortitude the practice of his profession can have
developed in him, if my recollections can be depended upon to furnish a
basis for the present outlook," said the Skeptic gloomily.
"You don't know that he will, at all," I disputed. "Rhodora was only a
girl when you saw her. She has been four years under Grandmother's
influence since then. Can you imagine that has accomplished nothing?"
The Skeptic shook his head. "That would be like a dove attempting the
education of a hawk.
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